Ink Blots
by lumisakom
Summary: Ed is persuaded by his brother to start 'recording his thoughts' - a collection of memories to humour Ed's future self; but Ed just sees it as a diary - possibly one of the most formidable enemies Ed's ever had to face. -Pairings undecided.-
1. Day One

**I'M SO SORRY. I KNOW I SHOULD BE WORKING ON MY MUCH BETTER STORIES, BUT I GOT POSSESSED BY PLOT BUNNIES AND I COULDN'T RESIST.**

**Pairings undecided at the moment; drop a review with your opinion on which pairing? :3 (I'd pair Ed with anyone except Winry. Sorry, folks, but I can't. I feel weird writing it and it doesn't sound natural. xD;;)**

**Oh, and I know I don't usually like using capital letters and _definitely_ not underlines, but it's a diary, so people usually do that sort of thing. I thought it'd make it more natural. *Shrugs***

**This is supposed to be set in the canon manga timeline - Ed is 13 (at the beginning, at least), so he might be a little more snappy/irritable/childlish/immature than usual. If that's possible. xD**

**I know it's a little short, but real diary entries often vary quite dramatically in length, so you're gonna get some 5000-word chapters and some 50-word chapters. xD **

**Disclaimer~**

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**Day One**

_Uh, hey. I'm not really sure what to write. Al said it would be good to... Ah, fuck it. I'm not some crazy emotional girl. I'm NOT going to ACT like one._

_May 12 1912_

_Al said I should at least write the date. So I wrote the date. Are you happy now, Al? Yes, I know you're reading over my shoulder._

_Right, Al says I can't have dinner until I've written at least fifty words. Not including what I've already written, because apparently it 'doesn't constitute a proper diary entry'. Well, he's an idiot. He told me to write whatever I wanted to, so I wrote something. And why does he use such fancy words anyway? He's only twelve. It just makes him sound snobby._

_Is that fifty words?_

_Al's STILL not letting me have dinner. Because apparently, that paragraph wasn't what I'm supposed to write, either. WELL I'M SORRY FOR NOT WRITING WHAT YOU WANT ME TO WRITE. HEY, WHY DON'T YOU TAKE THE PEN AND JUST PRETEND TO BE ME AND WRITE WHAT I'M 'SUPPOSED' TO? Imagine I'm yelling that. Because I am. I'm actually yelling it out loud as I'm writing it. Because I think having to write a stupid diary is just that fucking stupid. Because it is._

_YES, AL, THAT COUNTS AS MY THOUGHTS. SO GIVE ME THE FOOD AND NO ONE GETS HURT._


	2. Day Two

**Hey~ This actually took less than a month to update! Yay! :D**

**Sorry if everything's all jumbled up and doesn't make much sense. Ed's just writing his thoughts down, and trains of thoughts don't tend to always make complete sense. (Yeah, that's my excuse. xD) Plus I'm writing this late at night after sleep deprivation and too much sugar.**

**And sorry it's so short xD;;**

**Disclaimer~ **

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**Day Two**

_May fucking 13 1912_

_I'm writing this on the train, so that's probably why you can't read my handwriting. I'm on the train 'cause of stupid fucking Mustang and his stupid fucking missions. I mean, seriously, he already knows the state of the oil tanks in Drachma so why is he sending me up there to investigate them? Especially at gone fucking midnight. He's so stupid. Stupid, stupid bastard who_

* * *

_Sorry, the cart with the food just came by and I had an argument with the girl pushing it because she wouldn't let me buy the whole trolley. I told her it wasn't my fault I was hungry because Al didn't let me eat anything this evening because I refused to write in my diary, but she just gave me a weird look and walked away. Then I chased her, and Al hit me for hitting a girl. And now everyone on the train hates me because I was making too much noise. It wasn't my fault. Oh, and it's about two in the morning now. I'm really tired but I can't get to sleep because I haven't had anything to eat for hours. It still feels like May 12, but I guess it's May 13 now because it's gone midnight._

* * *

_There's this old couple in front of us who obviously don't know what sleep means 'cause they've been going on and on and fucking on about Friday 13 ever since we boarded the train. Superstition's stupid anyway. If they're gonna keep me awake with their stupid rambling, can't they at least talk about something interesting?_

* * *

_I think I'm going to die of boredom. I'm so bored I actually have nothing to do except write in this stupid diary. I played fifty-seven games of poker with Al (and won all of them), but then he accused me of cheating and so he won't play with me anymore. And all I can see out of the window is snow. I think we're nearly there - I mean, we must be because we've been on this train for hours. Since one, actually. And it's nine in the morning now, and I've still only got half an hour's sleep. But I don't feel that tired, because the girl pushing the food cart came by again and let me buy some coffee. It tasted like shit._


	3. Day Three

**Hihi, felt like I should update a real story rather than constantly writing prompts xD**

**Unfortunately, I only got about 250 words in before I decided to finish it there :P;;**

**Disclaimer~**

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**d . a . y . t . h . r . e . e**

_Still May 13, and it's bloody FREEZING. Al and I are in Drachma now, and we're supposed to check in at some checkpoint or something - Al knows the details, I wasn't paying attention - but I can't see anything except the train station. And snow. Too much fucking snow. My automail feels like Sensei's ripping it off slowly and painfully. I guess I should be glad it doesn't hurt as much as when I visited Drachma without Northern automail... Man, that hurt._

* * *

_I'm in a cabin, in the middle of nowhere, curled up in front of a nice, warm fire. Al - god knows how - managed to find the soldiers stationed at some coded rock or something and they directed us to a little inn "at the edge of town" (though I can't see anything remotely life-like outside the window). I don't think I'm going to be able to write very much over the next few days, 'cause tomorrow morning (it's about six in the evening now) Al and I are setting out to do that stupid mission. And writing in this stupid diary isn't exactly going to top my list of priorities when someone's in the middle of trying to kill me, is it? No. _

_Just thought I should tell you that. Or something. Mmm, I think Al's cooking something. It smells like bacon... or pepper. Or peppered bacon. Or _

* * *

_It was garlic bread. Fuck knows why I thought it was bacon. Anyway, I'm going to sleep now. Don't wake me up, okay?_

_... Hell, I sound so insane. I think that train ride is getting to me._


End file.
